Ask someone coming out of church on a Sunday, “Do you believe in G-d?” and the worshipper is shocked. “What type of question is that? Of course I do!” Then ask him, “Do you consider yourself religious?” and you’ll hear “Certainly. That's why I'm here!”

Go to a mosque on Friday and you ask the average moslem, “Do you believe in G-d?” what will the answer be? “Definitely.” “Do you consider yourself religious?” “Obviously.”

This is normal. These conversations make sense.

Now go to a synagogue on Yom Kippur. Ask the Jew fasting in the synagogue, “Do you believe in G-d?”

You can’t get a straight answer. “Umm, it depends on what you mean by 'G-d',” if they're the philosophical type. Otherwise they'll simply say, “What am I, a Rabbi? I don't know.”

Then ask them, “Do you consider yourself religious?” Ask an American Jew if they're religious, and they’ll crack up laughing. “Are you kidding?” Then one of them will say, “Oh, my grandfather on my mother's side, he was religious. But me...?”

So you ask what seems to be a logical question. “Then why are you here?”

For some reason, this average Jew who doesn't believe in G-d and is not religious, will look at you like you're crazy and say, “What do you mean? It's Yom Kippur!”

Let's analyze this. What is this Jew actually saying?

You asked him if he believes in G-d and he said “No.” Or “When I was younger I used to.” Or “When I get older I'll start to.”

“So you don't believe in G-d?”

“No. I don't.”

“Are you religious?”

“Far from it.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because it's Yom Kippur!”

What he's saying is: “Why am I here? Because G-d wants a Jew to be in the synagogue on Yom Kippur. Where else should I be?”

So you say: “But you don't believe in G-d.”

He says, “So what?” and he doesn't understand your problem.

He is saying: “Today is Yom Kippur even if I don't have a calendar. This is a synagogue even if I don't like it. I am a Jew whether I like it or not, and G-d is G-d even when I don't believe in Him. So what's your problem?”

Now that can be dismissed, and unfortunately many of us do dismiss it, as sheer hypocrisy. We say, “You don't believe in G-d and you're not religious--don't come to the synagogue. Don't come here just to show how Jewish you are.”

The Lubavitcher Rebbe has a different approach. This insanity is what makes us Jewish, expressing our unique relationship with G-d.

That's called truth. It's not about me. I don't want to be religious. I don't want to believe in G-d, I don't want to hear about this. But He wants me here, so here I am.

The same happens on Passover. Ask the average Jew at a Seder, do you believe in G-d? Leave me alone. Are you religious? He chokes on the matzah laughing. So you're celebrating the Exodus from Egypt 3,300 years ago? History isn’t my subject. Then why are you here? Where should I be? It's Passover! That's what's so magnificent about the Jew.

Now let's put it in context. Three thousand, three hundred and fifteen years ago G-d asked us at Sinai if we would marry him. It was an extraordinary wedding ceremony, with great special effects. We were wowed. After the wedding He said, “I have a few things I'd like you to take care of for me so, please... I'll be right back.”

He hasn't been heard from since. For three thousand, three hundred and twelve years. He sent messengers, messages, postcards--you know, writing on the walls... but we haven't heard from Him directly in all this time.

Imagine, a couple gets married, and the man says to his new wife, “Please make me something to eat. I'll be right back.” She prepares. The guy comes back 3,300 years later, walks into the house, up to the table, straight to his favorite chair, sits down and tastes the soup that is on the table. The soup is cold.

What will his reaction be? If he's wise, he won't complain. Rather he'll think it's a miracle that the house is still there, that his table and favorite chair are still there. He'll be delighted to see a bowl of soup at his place. The soup is cold? Well, yes, over 3300 years, soup gets cold.

We now look forward to Moshiach. “Moshiach now? But now I'm not ready. I don't want to be judged the way I am. I need more notice. When Moshiach comes, what's he going to find? Cold soup?”

Moshiach comes today, and he'll find that our soup is cold. We suffer from a loss of connection to our ancestors. We suffer a loss of connection even to our immediate family. The soup is very cold. But whose fault is that? And who gets the credit for the fact that there is soup altogether?

We are a miracle. Our relationship with G-d is organic. It's not a religion that we practice--it's our very us, it's who we are, it's what we are.

A noted Chassidic philosopher, author and lecturer, Rabbi Manis Friedman is dean of Bais Chanah Women's Institute of Jewish Studies.